


I Saw My Brother Cry Today

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'cause hello, Alternate Season/Series 11, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beating, Blood and Violence, Burning, Captivity, Dark Ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Derogatory Language, Dissociation, Forced Incest, Forced Nudity, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Incest, Killing, M/M, Manhandling, Mutual Non-Con, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Nudity, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Restraints, Sad Ending, Season/Series 11, Showers, Sibling Incest, Sort Of, Stabbing, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violent Thoughts, Whump, and then bring back to life, but yeah, forced stripping, just... deprived, more like a dark ending, non-consensual incest, this is not a happy story, this is supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Lucifer wants to possess Sam, but as usual, the younger Winchester is refusing to say yes. With both of them being held as his captives, Lucifer decides to use Dean to get what he wants. But he finds that Dean is harder to push around and coerce than expected. This puts Sam on the worse end of things.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Non-Consensual Pairings
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	I Saw My Brother Cry Today

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of takes place in season 11, but it doesn't make a lot of sense to the main plot because I just wanted to write this, and didn't want to turn it into a huge story (which almost happened). I've already got a season 11 darkfic I'm writing anyway. Didn't need another multi-chapter fic there. So this is just a really long one-shot. And it's dark af. Heed all the warnings. And yes, the Wincest in here is mutual non-con, and not something actually romanticized or established. (I'm only saying that because I know I'm not a Wincest shipper and some of my readers aren't either, but also this might not be the Wincest some of y'all are looking for, and I get that, just have fun shipping, y'all!)
> 
> In this I quote from 5x03 "Free to Be You and Me," and I also have song lyrics from AC/DC's "Hells Bells."

Sam had lost track of how many days he’d been held captive. He’d tried to figure it out at first, but he was being held underground without any windows or access to a view outside. There weren’t changes in light, subtle differentiations in temperature he could go off of. It was all cold. So the few tallies he’d scraped into the wall were mere, useless guesses. Dean had told him it would be so from the beginning, but Sam hadn’t wanted to lose hope.

“Dude, why the heck are you even doing that?” Dean asked, sitting on the floor, dejected, looking at Sam. Sam was busy pulling his arm up behind his head, stretching. “We’re fucking prisoners, man.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that,” Sam responded, now reaching down to touch the floor while keeping his legs straight. He barely felt the stretch there.

Dean held out his hand, staring at Sam, eyes wide with bewilderment, “And?”

“And I’m trying to stay sane. Being His prisoner — not really a new thing for me.”

“So you’re not freaking out,” Dean said as Sam dropped down to start doing a plank. He held his head up, looking at Dean as his body strained a bit from the position he was in. “You’re… good?”

“Dean, he always makes me ‘freak out,’ as you’d put it.”

Lucifer’s voice slithered through his ears — a memory — and Sam dropped to his knees, breathing hard.

He was his prisoner again.

_His._

Lucifer wanted Sam to say yes.

Again.

He just couldn’t do it.

He wouldn’t.

Not this time.

There was deafening silence, and Sam just hung his head. He was panting, sweating, the thoughts in his head dark and painful. And working out wasn’t easy. It had been at least a couple days since his last meal. But that wasn’t in Sam’s head now. There was a hand caressing his cheek. Lucifer’s — ice cold, obsessed, merciless. And it was so familiar.

Sam tilted his head into the touch because that’s what he knew, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He knew if he opened them that his vision would be blurry with tears.

Sam’s lips curled in a snarl and he said, voice rough, “And now you got me thinking about him.”

Dean didn’t apologize, but Sam could feel him coming over to him. Dean sat beside him, but didn’t reach out a hand, didn’t even attempt to hug him. They’d had some very hard conversations since becoming Lucifer’s prisoners, and Dean seemed to sense now when Sam didn’t want to be touched. But, Sam wasn’t sure if this was truly one of those moments.

He sat, and then turned to his brother, feeling cracks dig into his chest, big crevices burrowing down, reaching for his wildly beating heart.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” Sam said.

Dean pouted, but then forced a smile. He pat Sam on the shoulder.

“Nah, you kidding me? Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Me, you—”

“And the Devil.”

“Pfft, he’s a third wheel if you ask me.” Dean stood, and then went over to the door, studying it for the millionth time. It was something Sam had done. But it seemed to be a barrier of solid stone, no handholds on this side, nothing to use to make it budge. They’d tried, but it weighed a ton. So of course Lucifer would have no problem pushing it out of the way when he finally decided it was time to talk to them.

He’d put them in there after some minor beatings, and there they’d been for days, waiting.

“You think he just left us here?” Dean asked. “You know, biggest enemies out of the way and all. It’s basically what he’s always wanted.”

Sam felt a grim smile grow on his face.

“Trust me,” he responded, voice dark, knowing, “he’ll come back for us. He doesn’t have _everything_ he’s always wanted.” Dean turned to face Sam now, eyes so vulnerable, but face already starting to contort in a frown, denial. “He still doesn’t have me.”

Sam had thought maybe Dean would pretend to not understand, but instead he crumpled against the door, head in his hands. The day before (or possibly just hours before — Sam no longer knew), Dean had been consoling him, but this isolation was wearing him down. The hunger didn’t help either. At least there was a sink in their pathetic prison, so they hadn’t gotten thirsty. Relieving themselves was a whole other matter, and they were getting dirty in the small space. It was big enough for them to move around, stretch out a bit, but not much. Sleepless nights on the hard stone floor left them with aches. It was wearing away at Sam, even though he was trying to not let it, still trying to keep some sort of schedule. But Dean was done.

Dean brushed his hands through his hair, and then straightened, eyeing Sam.

“So… is he gonna get what he wants?”

“Never.”

Dean gave a weak smile. “That’s my Sammy.”

The door (if it could even be called that) finally opened, but it wasn’t Lucifer they were faced with. Four demons went in to grab them, two to each of them. Sam put up a fight, and he could see Dean doing the same. A punch to the head dropped his brother, and Sam was treated to a brutal right-hook in the stomach. He nearly collapsed as the air whooshed out of him and fell forward. The demons took Dean out first, dragging a breathless Sam behind.

Nausea curled in his stomach and spilled up into his mouth. Black spots were in his vision. The hunger was really getting to him, and the punch hadn’t done any good.

“Dean…” Sam breathed out.

Sam got punched again, and this time he coughed, bile rising up into his throat. He spat it out on the stone floor, drooling slightly as he kept getting taken through the halls.

“No talking,” the demon who’d hit him ordered.

Sam just tried standing on his own two feet, and gave them a tight smile. He had half a mind to tell them to go screw themselves, but he figured he’d have to save that fight for the Devil. Two low-life demons weren’t worth his time.

That changed fast.

Sam swallowed hard, renewing his struggles in a panic, when Dean got taken away from him.

“No! No! What are you doing?” Sam asked.

He was thrown into a small room that was like a stall. There was a drain pipe at the bottom of it. Dean had been taken elsewhere.

Sam received a kick for talking, and he grabbed the demon’s ankle, pulling on it to trip them, to at least try and fight back. The other one stepped hard on Sam’s chest.

“You gonna cooperate?” they asked.

Sam spat to the side, and glared.

“Make me.”

So apparently he didn’t want to save his fight for later. Now would be good too.

The demon smiled and then stomped down hard on his chest. Sam didn’t hear anything crack, but he ached all over, and breathing hurt like a bitch. The demons started touching him, tugging at his clothes.

“Hey!” Sam cried. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

He tried to keep his clothes on, but he was weakened, so getting put in a chokehold was enough to quell what energy he’d had. They stripped him, uncaringly. They were most likely blindly following orders.

Before Sam could even think about why his clothes had been taken, a knob above his head was turned and steaming hot water streamed down on him. It was too hot. It splashed onto his face, and he rolled over, screaming as his skin stung and burned. There was a bright flash of pain from the heat of the water, like a throb, and it would subside for a fraction of a second before coming back in full force, even more agonizing than before. Steam curled up in the stall he’d been put in.

Nearby he heard Dean screaming.

Sam flinched as he was spanked on the ass.

“Stand up, boy. The boss wants you clean.”

Sam didn’t do what was asked of him, he just tried dragging himself away from the unrelenting torrent of boiling water streaming down on him. He was shaking, and his breath came out in hard gasps and grunts.

Some strange part of his mind decided maybe getting skinned would stop the pain. It started begging for it.

Tears welled up in Sam’s eyes. The demons, seemingly unbothered by the hot water, went over and grabbed Sam, forcing him up against the wall, pinning his wrists by his head.

He struggled, but then they forced him right under the water, and he squeezed his eyes shut, screaming.

It got in his ears, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. The water was all over his body, burning his flesh, reaching places that had no business being hurt. Hell, it was degrading enough for these demons to see him naked. Them seeing him in pain as well was even worse.

The shower seemed endless. The demons had let go of Sam, and left the stall, closing the door behind them. Sam tried to get out, shaking fingers desperately trying the latch, but the door wouldn’t budge. There was a weight against it.

Sam ended up with his head down, hair dripping in his face, hands against the wall in the direction he’d seen Dean get taken in. His brother was grunting, crying out.

“Dean!” Sam called.

“I’m fine, Sammy! I’m just— Son of a bitch!”

Sam leaned his head against the wall, even as the skin of his back and ass felt like it was going to peel right off from the heat.

With all the pain it was hard to tell how much time had passed. The only measure he had was that it’d been too long. Much too long.

Sam was whimpering by the time the demons came back in and shut the water off.

“Now you don’t stink anymore,” one said, grabbing his face. Sam started crying from the touch on his sensitized, hurt skin. “But don’t forget: you’re a piece of shit.”

Sam spat right in the demon’s eye. They cried out, and Sam was slapped across the face. He shouted, and blood trickled out of the fresh open wound on his skin.

The other demon grabbed the wrist of the one who had hit him.

“The master wants him unspoiled.”

The demon responded with a shrug, and then they started taking Sam from the room, one leading him with a hand to the back of the neck. Shuddering, holding back tears, Sam walked. Even the stone hurt against his bare feet after the torture of the shower. Dean was getting shoved ahead of him, skin completely red, looking like he’d gotten the worst sunburn of his life.

“Fuck being clean,” Dean spat. “Now I just want to be dirty the rest of my life.”

“You, dirty?” Sam asked, having a hard time getting the words out. He was trying to joke, but he couldn’t picture his slightly germaphobic brother not cleaning himself. “Can’t picture it.”

One of the demons shoving Dean along yelled, “Silence!” Their voice was deafening, ringing in Sam’s eardrums with some unholy power.

They were roughly herded along till they got to another room. This one was bigger, even had windows in the ceiling like a skylight. But it didn’t escape Sam’s notice that two stone support poles were in the room, looking perfect for tying people to. Oh, and the rope for that was there too. Just perfect.

Sam and Dean were shoved onto the floor, and then manhandled mercilessly as they got tied up to their respective poles. Where they sat was bathed in patches of sunlight. Being in that lighting seemed to somewhat relieve the constant headache hammering at his forehead from the fluorescent lights that never went out in this place, but being tied up wasn’t much of an improvement. Sam and Dean were made to face each other. One of Dean’s demons ruffled his brother’s hair, making him growl, and snap his teeth at them. Sam’s just spat at his feet, returning his earlier insult.

They left, and Sam jumped, ropes burning at his wrists from the movement, when the door shut. He leaned his head — delicate scalp and all — against the pole.

“Nothing like a shower to wake you up,” Dean said.

“Ha. Yeah.”

There was hardly any life in Sam’s voice.

He knew this was only the beginning.

Dean had gotten so used to being a captive that as he sat there, restrained across from Sam, he was actually bored. Sure, it sucked big time that he was naked as all hell, but well, Hell was precisely the point. In Hell he’d gotten stripped and then tortured. His body wasn’t a thing of shame. It was just a blank canvas for torturers to dig into. So he didn’t mind in the way someone else might, even though Sam could see everything. Dean could see everything on Sam’s end too. The week before he would’ve shuddered and made disgusted noises if someone had told him he’d see his brother naked, but this was his brother. They were in this together.

“How long do you think he’s going to keep us waiting?” Dean asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut, all of him throbbing with pain. His ass felt like it’d been struck repeatedly with a riding crop (Dean certainly wasn’t unfamiliar with the feeling). Every touch hurt, even every movement. He just wanted to have someone rip his skin off, take the pain away.

“Not long,” Sam said, proving that he was indeed the expert on the Devil. “If he wanted us like this, he’ll be too impatient to not have me.”

Dean cracked open an eye, looking at Sam’s reddened body, and the blood on his cheek.

“ _Have_ you? Like—Like…” Dean couldn’t say it, trailing off.

Sam didn’t answer, just swallowed roughly and stared hard at Dean. There was begging in his eyes, pleading: _You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to take care of me. Take care of me now. Get me out of this. Please. I can’t do this._

Dean felt his bottom lip tremble, and he licked it, looking away. Sam looked away too, neither of them able to cope with the situation they were in.

“So uh…” Dean began, fishing for anything to say, a distraction, _something_. “What show do you think Cas is bingeing now?”

“ _The Mentalist_ ,” Sam answered. “Last time we were in the bunker I heard him yelling about the incorrect forensic procedures. Guess he’s learned from us from being a hunter.”

Dean couldn’t help the laugh that came out of him.

“You know, we don’t do it right either.”

“Guess not.”

“Man, the first thing I’m doing when I’m getting out of here is getting myself a forensics degree,” Dean said, “just so I can rub it in Cas’ face.”

“I thought you said the first thing you’d do was marry a cheeseburger.”

Dean: “Hey, you think this is some kind of game? I’m not rushing into that. Gotta ask her to marry me first.”

“How romantic.”

“Then I’m gonna eat her.”

Dean was somewhat relieved when that got Sam to laugh.

“Even more romantic,” his brother joked.

There was silence for a bit, Dean struggling against the ropes, wincing at the pain, almost growling from it. Tears stung in his eyes, and there was that familiar pinching feeling at the bridge of his nose. God damn it! He’d already cried a bit when he’d been getting forced to take a shower. Dean didn’t want to cry anymore. 

And the ropes didn’t budge.

His skin just stung and burned.

“So, any ideas on getting out of here?”

Sam was trying his ropes now too, face scrunched up in pain and from the effort. He gave up after a few seconds, chest heaving.

“Not a clue,” Sam responded.

The metal door opened, startling Sam, and Dean groaned, slowly turning his head.

Lucifer came in, somehow in the body of his vessel during the Apocalypse. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to be burning him up this time. Maybe his dead body had gotten an upgrade, a celestial makeover.

Lucifer grinned as he stepped in, letting the door close behind him. He clapped his hands together. His eyes drifted over Dean, but then all he seemed to be focusing on was Sam.

Though it hurt, Dean renewed his struggles. His stomach hurt, which didn’t help with his headache, but his stomach wasn’t hurting because of a beating or anything physical. It was fear. The horrible fear that came from facing down a trauma that couldn’t be escaped.

Dean yelled, the ropes now making his wrists bleed.

“Fuck!” he swore.

Lucifer ignored him, going over to Sam, who was breathing hard, lifting up his legs to keep them close to his chest, as if trying to hide some of his nudity. The Devil crouched down, and reached out to touch Sam’s face. He flinched, a snarl making its way onto his lips. A hand caressed his face and Sam shuddered.

“My perfect vessel,” Lucifer breathed.

“Just get it over with,” Sam got out, voice rough, broken up. He’d had to force those words out.

Dean could see that he was sweating.

“Not yet. I need to work you over first, don’t I? You’re not just going to say yes.”

Sam faced him, even though that pressed his cheek against his hand. Dean stamped on the floor, still struggling, gritting his teeth.

God, he had to get them out. He had to!

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Screw you,” Sam responded.

“Hey, buddy!” Dean cried. “He ain’t gonna say yes to a piece of shit like you, so just leave it.”

Lucifer turned, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat, fear stabbing pain through his chest. He froze. The Devil’s eyes seared red.

“And why should I listen to my brother’s toy?”

Dean gave a harsh grin, a mix between a snarl and a smirk. “You know I never said yes to that son of a bitch.”

“Then stay out of it,” Lucifer responded.

Lucifer turned back to Sam, closing his eyes, and spit dribbled from his mouth as his shuddering grew stronger. Bright light emanated from the hand, golden, ironically angelic. It _was_ his true nature, but he had perverted himself so much that seeing his archangelic side was a deep shock that struck cold down to Dean’s bones. Here was the Morningstar, the Prince of Darkness, one of the most powerful beings in existence. And Dean was watching him touch his brother.

Sam inhaled, and then let out a long exhale, body relaxing somewhat. The cut on his face sealed up, though the blood remained, and then his skin was no longer that bright, awful red.

Lucifer pat Sam’s cheek, and then moved over to Dean.

Dean tried to avoid him, dodging his fingers, but Lucifer grabbed his jaw hard and then healed him.

It was a relief to not be in pain anymore, to not feel sick from the bright lights he’d been subjected to, sick from the lack of food. But being healed by him made him want to throw up. Then Lucifer was standing, in between them but back a little. Dean had eyes only for him, though his thoughts were all about Sam.

“So,” Lucifer began, “Sam, we’re gonna do this the hard way.”

“Good,” Sam retorted. “Do your worst.”

Dean now turned to his brother, shocked that he’d said that. Sam’s eyes were hard, hiding his fear. They burned with anger, indignation. And maybe the fear was burning in him, a fire building, fueling all his other emotions.

Lucifer laughed. “You really don’t want me to.”

Sam grit his teeth, lips baring in an unfriendly, threatening way.

“Then screw. You.”

Dean wished he could say something, take the Devil’s attention away from his brother, but nothing came to mind. He realized he was sitting there, mouth open.

“Okay, I’m only going to ask this once before getting serious,” Lucifer said. “Dean” — he turned to him, and bile rose into Dean’s mouth, gut churning and aching — “do you want to suck your brother off?”

Dean’s face paled, maybe going a bit green. His jaw went slack and he just sat there blinking.

Finally he got out, voice deepened with disgust and shock, “Excuse me?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and then drew an angel blade. Dean tried to shuffle back, but he was tied fast.

Satan came over and put the blade against Dean’s throat, a hungry energy exuding from his movements. He was even breathing heavy.

They stared each other down.

“You really think that I’m gonna do that to him?” Dean snarled. “Nice try. But I’m not scared enough to be a disgusting fuck.”

“Dean,” Sam said, voice quiet.

“Shut it, Sam Winchester!” Lucifer called, not even turning to look at him.

Lucifer brought the edge of the blade to Dean’s chest, rubbing over one of his nipples with it. Dean squirmed, face contorting. He did his best to hold his breath, worried that breathing would make the blade dig in. And his _nipple? Really?_ He needed that! Okay, well, he _didn’t_ , but it was a part of him, and Dean thought his body was damn important and needed all its parts. Besides, nipples could give pleasure. That’s what he needed them for.

It also meant this was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.

Lucifer cut.

Dean clenched his jaw, and he struggled to hold his voice in. His body tensed at the sharp pain that twanged down his torso to his pelvis. His stomach decided it wanted to reenact what it felt like during a car crash.

“What about now?”

“Try again, pal.”

“With pleasure.”

Lucifer sliced farther down, going over his ribs. Dean let out a cry, tilting his head back. The blood running over his skin, pumping out of him, was hot.

Dean screamed through his teeth as he bared them at Lucifer. Lucifer just cut some more. Dean’s mouth opened, letting out a much louder cry, and the Devil responded by getting on him, and wrapping a hand around his throat. He started screaming too, voice filled with something primal. Dean was choking now, strangled gasps leaving him. Air wouldn’t go in, and his throat was bruising under the pressure.

The blade sliced through his other nipple, making him jolt, even as he couldn’t breathe.

“Stop!” Sam cried.

Dean’s head pounded, and his lungs felt like they might just cave in on themselves without the air they needed.

“Lucifer, stop!”

Lucifer ground down against Dean, body instantly registering the pleasure and reacting with adrenaline and endorphins. His naked body began to respond. Satan rested the blade against his chest, but let go of his throat. His hand caressed his collarbones, and Dean would’ve growled if not for the fact that he was panting, lungs desperate.

He turned to Sam. Dean tried shifting to peer around the Devil, but he shoved him hard, and then had a hand on his face, nails digging into his cheek, his forehead. His view was obscured by the hand that was set on hurting him. Dean’s heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears so loud he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hear anything. He imagined one of those sequences on TV where the hero was getting up, about to be slammed face first with a traumatic event, and a heartbeat _THUMP… THUMP… THUMP_ s. Hell, he half expected action music to come in, and then it’d be his time to save the day. To save his brother. 

That didn’t happen.

Lucifer’s skin pressed against his lips, and Dean let out a sound that, when muffled, was akin to a squeal. He’d be blushing if the rest of him wasn’t so busy telling him everywhere he hurt.

“Are you going to say yes?” Lucifer asked.

“Screw you.”

Lucifer turned back to Dean now, pulling his hand away from his face. It was wet from drool that’d trickled out from the awkward way his lips had been positioned by the freakin’ hand of Satan.

“You hear that?” He then mock-whispered, voice still loud enough for Sam to hear. “He doesn’t care about you.”

“Dean—Dean, you _know_ that’s not true.”

Dean’s tone was shaky and weak as he responded, “No shit.”

Lucifer rammed the blade into Dean’s gut. There was a high-pitched whine, like his brain was telling him it had become the blue screen of death. Experiencing technical difficulties.

Sam was shouting, face red, spit flying. He pulled at his restraints till there was blood.

Dean numbly took this in and then looked at the angel blade in him. Satan grinned, pulled it free, and then healed him.

Shock tingled through Dean’s body, his head swimming, his stomach experiencing some sort of internal hurricane.

Dean gasped, and even his lungs seemed shocked as hell that he could breathe.

Body beginning to shake, all he could say was, “Wow.”

“Want to go again?” Lucifer asked.

Dean smirked, even though he felt sick inside.

“I can do this all day.”

The angel blade stabbed into him, and this time he felt it.

“Stop it!” Sam yelled. “Lucifer, _stop!_ Hurt me!”

Lucifer turned to Sam, rolling his eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to get him to do.” He pointed a thumb back at Dean.

Satan had been cutting his brother up some more for maybe five minutes, and Sam couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take Dean’s agonized voice, the blood tainting his skin, staining it red, the puddle of blood collecting under him.

“You gonna say yes?”

Sam’s upper lip trembled, tears in his eyes, and he clenched his jaw. He refused to look down and away as he responded, “ _Screw. You._ ”

Lucifer put the blade to Dean’s throat, other hand pulling his head back with his hair. Some sort of choked grunt left Dean, and Sam winced as he pulled at the ropes, letting them cut even deeper.

It was no use. Those demons tied a good knot.

Dean grinned, one corner of his mouth pulling up as he faced down the Devil. Lucifer was giving Sam a view.

“You think just because you’re gonna kill me that I’m suddenly gonna do what you want?” He leaned forward, lips trembling, jaw as hard as steel, as he had the blade dig into his skin. “You don’t scare me, jackass! And I sure as hell ain’t touchin’ my brother. Kill me.”

“And leave our Sammy all alone?”

Dean repeated, “ _Kill. Me._ ”

Sam couldn’t breathe, and he was nauseated from the thought of what the Devil was trying to get Dean to do.

Maybe that would break him.

Sam didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out.

Lucifer calmly went over to Sam, making him scrabble helplessly at the ground (his skin was already getting scraped up from how much he’d been struggling).

The angel blade was now held against his throat. Sam’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he felt as if his throat was constricting. He swallowed hard. Blinking fiercely, trying to get unshed tears out of his eyes, he glanced up at Lucifer who was crouched by him, and then he looked to Dean.

Dean just stared back, a tear trailing down his cheek, eyes absolutely horrified. He was frozen, not sure of what to tell Sam to do, or how to react. There was just quiet desperation.

Sam felt his breaths coming sharp and fast in and out of his nose. Black spots started coming in on the edges of his vision.

But he got out, “You can’t kill me. Then you’ll have no one.”

Lucifer leaned into Sam, and Sam cried out when his mouth found his ear. After taking a good deal of time loudly sucking, nipping, and tonguing his skin, he murmured, “That’s the thing, Sam. I already have no one.”

The blade sliced into Sam’s throat, blood gushing free.

“ _WHAT DID YOU DO?_ ” Dean roared. He was fighting helplessly, but so hard now that he was up on his knees, and his shoulders threatened to dislocate.

Oh _god_.

_Oh GOD._

_Oh…_

Sam was bleeding. Just bleeding and bleeding, and it came up on his lips. Satan had stepped aside, stowing the angel blade and brushing off his hands like he’d done a hard day’s work.

Dean pulled and pulled at the ropes.

He couldn’t feel his hands. They were taken over by a heavy, tingling numbness. His shoulders hurt, something in his chest started to throb and burn.

“SAMMY!” Dean cried.

Sam’s head drooped, his body going limp.

“ _SAM!_ ”

Lucifer started pacing, even fucking whistling.

“ _What did you do?!_ ” Dean cried.

Lucifer just looked at him, whistling.

“I’m gonna skin you, you bastard! I’m gonna take your nails out one by one, get rid of those fucking teeth, drill holes into that perverted head of yours, and then I’m gonna tear you open. Collarbone to pelvis.”

“You done?” Lucifer asked.

Dean was still muttering, “I’m gonna break every bone in your hands and feet, and freakin’ cut out your organs! I’m gonna beat you till there ain’t nothin’ left!” He collapsed, aching, bleeding, sobbing with his head bowed.

“ _Sammy…_ ” he wailed, the sound low, broken, like an animal grieving its child.

His vision was blurry with tears, and they were pattering onto the stone.

Lucifer came over, and grabbed Dean’s hair, making his scalp sting, and he tugged till Dean’s neck was straining. Something got pulled.

“Six years ago I made your brother a promise.” Dean just continued sobbing, not wanting to hear about any shitty-god-damn-fucking-son-of-a-bitch promise.

_SAM WAS DEAD._

“He told me he’d kill himself. He wanted to, you know. Oh, how he’s wanted to. So many times. But none more than that night in the motel room when I appeared in his bed. Something inside of him came over to me that night. He’d told me there was reason for hope. But there’s not. There never has been, never _will. Be._ And your brother — your angst-filled, fucked up freak of a brother — threatened to kill himself instead of letting me in. And I made a promise then. I told him I’d bring him back. I’d always bring him back.”

Dean felt sick, face surely turning green.

So Lucifer could bring his brother back.

But at what cost? To hurt him? To use him? To take everything away from him and crush it into a fine powder that was blackened like ash?

“So…” Lucifer said, letting go of Dean, pushing on his head slightly just before he did so, having it bang against the stone support, “on that note, I’ll be back.”

He stepped back and away, and Sam’s body was still there, slumped, blood soaking him, crimson and scarlet puddle larger than the one around Dean (which he’d happened to smear with his struggles).

His brother’s hair had fallen in front of his face, a final tear reaching his chin, and clinging, clinging, before dripping down to his bare chest. Sweat was surely starting to cool on his forehead, even incrementally, and—and…

Sammy was gone.

Lucifer ruffled Dean’s hair before he left, and he told him, “Enjoy the view.”

Sam wasn’t near his body. He’d been savagely pulled from it, like a muscle tearing and then breaking in two. The journey of his soul left all of him aching, though he didn’t have a body anymore. He didn’t know where he was. The room — if he was even in a room — was pitch black. Time passed. It had to have.

Sam started seeing shapes in the dark, his hand, glowing pinpricks of light. They were gone when he closed his eyes, light not coming through on his eyelids, but there they were again when he opened them.

He felt tears drying on his face.

Dead.

He was dead.

How…?

Sam was so shocked that his thoughts were sluggish.

This hadn’t been what he was expecting.

But then, he realized something, breath catching in his throat, the aching muscle that was his soul quivering, like it was wrapped in bands, and the bands were snapped against it: his scar tissue.

“ _I will kill myself before letting you in._ ”

“ _I’ll just bring you back._ ”

A high-pitched note burst into being, an archangelic screech, a voice. The power of it sliced through Sam and he fell to his knees, mouth open in a silent cry, as he put his hands over his bleeding ears.

Lucifer appeared before him. Sam couldn’t see his body. But there were his eyes, those horrible, glowing, red eyes. They were inhuman, impossible to read, just points of light above him that spoke of evil.

The sound stopped.

Sam gasped, taking his hands away from his ears, but he kept them held up and away from him. His mouth was open.

_Don’t come near me, don’t come near me._

_Don’t touch me._

“Where am I?” Sam demanded, surprised by the strength in his voice. Perhaps it was fueled by the hard scar tissue of his soul. “Is this Hell?”

Lucifer didn’t answer. Instead, he informed him, “Now, it will take some time to shove you back in your body, but I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy the shoving. Ha! I’m already damned! Guess that means it’s a painful trip for you.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“I want you to say yes.”

Then there was a bitingly ice cold hand on his shoulder. Sam cringed, cried out. The fingers were pressing hard enough to bruise. He was carried away through the darkness.

“I screwed up,” Dean admitted, tears running freely down his cheeks. They made it to his lips, even inside his mouth, where he tasted the bitter salt of his grief. Snot from his nose threatened to get on his top lip. His body hurt. Sam’s body was dead. “I screwed up, Sammy. I gotta take care of you. I gotta—gotta take care of you. No matter the consequences.”

Dean licked his lips, and sucked on his bottom one. He held his breath, holding in a sob. It built up like a punch in his diaphragm, and it came out, a strangled sound. His shoulders shook from it, chest rising and falling.

“You gotta help me, Sammy,” he said to his brother, wishing he would stop bleeding, that he’d lift up his head, and that his eyes would have life in them. His baby brother. His _dead_ baby brother. “I don’t know what to do,” Dean went on. “What am I supposed to do? Go through with his abhorrent demands? T-t… Touch you? That’s not taking care of you.”

Dean shook his head, and then kind of nodded to himself, as if he’d deserved this. He rested back against the support pillar, stone warming from prolonged contact with his body. He stared and stared and stared, biting his bottom lip till there was blood. His chest and diaphragm were filled with an aching pressure, but outside, he was empty. Dean was shocked to find he started crying hysterically. He even screamed.

Now he sat there, gasping, face soaking wet, body still pumping blood that escaped through his open wounds. It was too early for them to scab, for the blood to dry. And the damage was too significant.

But he was alive.

God, he didn’t want to be.

“What am I supposed to do, Sammy? You’re comin’ back. I know you’re comin’ back. But then I’m gonna fail you. I’m gonna screw up again. ‘Cause that’s what I do. Dean Winchester, the screw up. I’ve always been that. I—I screwed up when Mom died. Dad… Dad blamed it on Yellow-Eyes — Azazel — but he wasn’t around to take the hits. I started to think Mom was my fault. That I… That I didn’t love her enough. And then you… I raised you... and I screwed up. I couldn’t protect you. I _can’t_ protect you. I screwed up with the demon blood, with the Cage, the trials, Gadreel. I always fucking _screw. Up._

“I don’t know what to do here. God, please, I don’t know what to do.”

He sniffled, more tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You’re my baby brother,” he went on, voice coming out low, but having an anguished squeak in it, like a gasp that found the place it had to fill was blocked. “And here you are because of me. You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean was going to sob, but it turned into a laugh. God, he wished he could wipe the tears from his face. He licked at his bleeding lip, the sting barely registering. His heart pounded like a hammer against his ribcage. “Always making me sacrifice for you.” He held his breath again, but then a whine built up and was let out of his mouth that was clamped shut. Head bowed, Dean lamented, “And it’s never enough. No matter what I do, I screw up looking after you.”

Light burst in the room.

Sam heaved in a breath.

Satan slapped Sam into wakefulness. He gasped hard from the shock, and then looked around frantically, almost pulling something in his neck from it. The daylight hadn’t dimmed, still bathed Sam in its ironically sunny glow. The light brightened the blood around him and on his skin. It was strange to not be getting tortured in a dark place, but it certainly fit the dull component. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Lucifer announced, stepping back, spreading his hands wide. 

Sam looked across at Dean. His brother’s face was soaked, tear-streaked, and it looked like snot had joined the party. His nose and puffy eyes were red, his mouth just a bit red too, and blood came from his bottom lip like he’d been biting it. Blood washed steadily out of his wrists, and the color of his skin was paling. His eyes weren’t empty like Sam had expected they would be, though it was creeping in on the edges. There was hope there — a sickening hope — but hope nonetheless.

“Sa-Sammy?” Dean asked, voice barely coming out.

“Did you have a nice nap?” Lucifer asked.

Sam glanced at the Devil, and then back at Dean.

It had all happened too fast. He felt as if he had to reach for his throat, hold his blood in. But… he was all in one piece.

Lucifer took out the angel blade.

Sam’s eyes widened.

“So… who’s gonna do what I ask?” he questioned, tapping the blade against the palm of his hand like it wasn’t at all sharp. He ignored the blood trickling from his skin. “Any takers?” he asked, looking to both brothers.

Sam and Dean just looked at each other, questioning, _questioning_.

Dean’s bottom lip was trembling, even as he clenched his jaw.

Sam’s jaw had gone slack, mouth open.

Dean’s eyes seemed to say: _Help me, I don’t know what to do._

Sam just knew he didn’t want to die again, but to… to experience _that?_ No, no. He couldn’t do it. But Dean was getting tortured too. He knew he’d only been dead to torture Dean into submission, which in turn, would get Sam to follow. He knew the Devil’s mind, he knew that was how he worked. To give into one thing would be to eventually give in to another.

Sam’s lips turned up ever so slightly in a sad smile. A tear ran down Dean’s cheek, but he nodded.

Sam faced the Devil: “ _Screw. You._ ”

This time when his death came, he’d expected it.

Dean found himself sitting across from Sam’s dead body again. Second time in one day. That must’ve been a new Winchester record. Dean, hollowed out and numb, laughed at that. Lucifer was gone, back to go wherever he had to to get Sam’s soul. It was unnerving that his brother wasn’t in Heaven. Lucifer wouldn’t have been able to get him into Heaven, would he?

Perhaps he intercepted the Reaper.

It was too much for Dean to think about.

He looked around, hoping Sam was there, even wanting to feel a cold spot.

There was nothing.

And now since he was alone, Dean had more time to think.

Would he do what the Devil wanted?

How could he live with himself if he did?

And he _knew_ if he did that Sam would surely give in. That was the Devil’s entire goal: Sam Winchester.

Dean’s face turned green at the thought.

His brother had been fucking touched, and violated by that monster, and now he wanted to own all of him _again!_ Take away his free will, his agency, strip him more bare than just down to his skin. He wanted to be _in_ him. In every part.

Dean knew it from the way Sam had spoken of him during _that talk_. The Talk, The Cage Talk, The Where-Dean-Can-No-Longer-Pretend-Everything-Is-Fine Talk. Yep. That one.

Rape.

What the fuck?

_What the fuck?_

Dean had known there was evil in the world, but to know his brother had been subject to it for almost two centuries broke him down inside. He wasn’t even sure there was anything good left in him.

The funny thing about pain was, some days you could get used to it. Some days it didn’t hurt so bad. But most of the time, it just added up. And it kept adding up, even when it blew the top right off the threshold and kept going.

And now, it was just rising and rising, like the red line on a thermometer that’d been dipped in boiling water.

The pain in Dean was sickening, even felt life-threatening. His diaphragm was aching and hollow, and Dean wasn’t even sure if he was still there. Just _knowing_ what had been done to Sam — he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take this existence. It was a world where he’d failed, and Sammy had paid the price. It was a world where God didn’t answer their prayers.

Hell, Dean wasn’t even afraid of Amara at the moment. She wanted him, but Abaddon had been the same. He’d made it out unscathed from that (of course, _not_ counting the whole Mark of Cain problem).

He would again.

Right?

But that didn’t even matter.

Right here, _right now_ , he was _not. Okay._

His dead brother across from him was the first sign of that.

It seemed to be taking awhile for Sam to come back, so Dean started talking.

“Hey, uh… you remember that time we tried taking Cas to a strip club?” Dean laughed at the memory, even though, in the haze of all this, it was foggy at best, and at worst — nonexistent. “He didn’t give a damn about all the pretty women in front of him. Not a single fuck given. And you, that one girl gave you a lap dance for free. Said she liked your hair.” Dean smiled, but it was false, weak, and didn’t reach his eyes.

He met Sam’s lifeless, glassy-eyed stare.

“So this is what getting tortured by the Devil is like, huh?” Dean asked. He licked his lips, the split one stinging. “So uh… any pointers? Tips? You know, _How to Survive The Devil’s BS Ideas 101_? Ooh, is there an orientation? ‘Cause sign me up.” Dean rolled his eyes, tears falling, and then he looked around.

No way out.

Sam — dead.

“I guess this is the orientation.”

When Sam came back Dean was brokenly singing “Ramble On,” and even forcing out the guitar melodies with his anguished voice. The haunting sound of his brother’s favorite song echoing slightly in the large room would’ve struck Sam cold if being brought back by Satan himself hadn’t already done that.

Sam looked down at himself and he didn’t recognize his body. That couldn’t have possibly been his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, his knees, his feet. No. It wasn’t him. Sam was dead. The unreal stone against him seemed to agree with that, as did the rope. Now, Sam wondered, was Dean real?

Dean was staring at him with empty eyes.

While hesitant and wanting to stay completely still and not make a sound, Sam forced out, “What did you do to Dean?”

Dean just looked at him, face crumbling as tears built up in his eyes.

Lucifer just started counting, “Ten, nine…”

“What—What are you doing?”

“Eight.”

Dean swallowed hard, looking down.

“Seven.”

Sam knew he was going to die again. Pain would flash through him in an overwhelming burst, and then he’d be left in the darkness for his rapist to “rescue him;” “raise him from the dark and into the light,” as he’d put it. Sam felt his mouth making too much saliva, and his stomach hurt so badly he wanted to groan, curl up on his side, and be left alone.

But he wasn’t alone.

And things were going to get much worse than just a stomach ache.

“Sammy, I can’t—”

“Six.”

“ _Dean_.” Sam’s voice was stressed, and filled with questions and desperation. 

“Five.”

_What do we do? What do we do? WHAT DO WE DO?_

“Four.”

Sam just about threw up from thinking about what Lucifer wanted Dean to do to him.

“Three.”

Dean stared at him with those empty eyes.

“Two.”

“Dean, don’t—”

“One.”

“I’m sorry.”

_Slish!_

“ _I got my bell, I’m gonna take you to Hell_ / _I’m gonna get ya, Satan, get ya!_ / _Hell’s bells_ / _Yeah, hell’s bells_ / _You got me ringin’ hell’s bells_ / _My temperature’s high, hell’s bells!_

“ _Da da duh-da, duh-da, da da duh-da!_

“ _Hell’s bells!_

“ _Da da duh-da, duh-da, da da duh-da!_

“ _Yeah, hell’s bells!_ ”

Dean was singing to Sammy. Sammy didn’t care, just had his head drooping, his dead eyes staring downwards. His skin had a gray pallor to it, void of what made him Sam. And he didn’t listen to his brother’s singing.

_Oh god, I’m so sorry,_ Dean thought as he continued singing out the instrumental parts. _Oh god, oh_ god _._ He lost track of where he was in the song, and started just repeating lines in the chorus and filling in with phrases from “Hells Bells” that he liked.

Sam didn’t come back to him.

Lucifer had left.

Dean was alone.

He stopped singing, and breathed hard, resting his head back against the pole he was tied to. Bleeding, exhausted, grief-stricken, he had no idea what to do.

Dean looked skyward, to the light that was dimming as the day wore on.

His stomach gutted itself, leaving him breathless. His face wet, he tried to look past the skylight, above, to “a higher power.”

What a load of bullshit.

Still, Dean needed to try. He had to do this before he hurt his brother.

“I…” He faltered. No, he couldn’t. Dean’s nostrils flared, frustration at himself, and he continued, “I don’t know if you’re up there… if you’ve _ever_ been up there… but if you are… you gotta—gotta do something. Do something now and—and it’ll be alright.” Dean’s lips quivered, face drawing down into a pout as silence met him. “Come on!” he cried. “You have people down here who—who _worship you_ , you son of a bitch! Don’t they deserve you? Don’t I? I’ve been fighting — oh, I have been _fighting_ — this ugly, gritty, dark as shit life since I was four years old. And Sammy never even had a chance. Doomed from birth. That’s on you, and the plan for _the Apocalypse_. But you help us now. You help us now, you _son of a bitch_.”

The silence that followed Dean’s prayer was suffocating in its vast presence.

Dean’s voice cracked as he murmured, “Help us.”

The loneliness surrounding him that drove pain into his chest and across his skin couldn’t be described in any cusswords that Dean knew.

Nothing would suffice.

There was no God.

It was just Lucifer.

And he was back.

And so was Sam.

“So, boys,” Lucifer asked, clapping his hands together, “ready to give me a show?”

Sam was breathing hard, and Dean glanced at him before eyeing the Devil. Stomach feeling like it’d gotten a twenty-five pound weight dropped on it, he gave one single nod, barely perceptible.

Lucifer didn’t grin, but one corner of his mouth went up a bit: a smirk, a leer. It was gleeful.

He was close to getting what he wanted.

Lucifer wanted Sam.

But Dean couldn’t watch him die again.

He just couldn’t.

He _couldn’t_.

“Dean,” Sam said. “Dean, no.”

Lucifer was going to undo Dean’s ropes, and he winced as they rubbed against raw, split open skin.

“I can’t keep watching you die, Sammy.”

“Dean, you have to!”

“No. Don’t you see? He ain’t gonna stop. _Ever_.”

“You’re just giving him what he wants.”

“I am _saving you_ from death, over and over and _over again_.”

“Dean—”

“I don’t want to do this. But I have to do this.”

Sam stared at him with a bitter look, jaw clenched tightly. His cheeks were flushing, and sweat beaded on his forehead. But there wasn’t that fire in his eyes he’d been expecting from Sam. It was something he’d kept going through all this, but now, he was just lost, empty, the strength snuffed out. Dean felt the same, like something had crawled inside of him, chewed out all his insides, and then left. He’d been hollowed out, emptied. Dean was in that emptiness now. Pain pressed in on it, disgust. But there was just nothing.

“Dean.” His name left Sam without any ardor, without any fight. Sam couldn’t take this anymore either.

Dean swallowed roughly, Lucifer finished untying him, and Dean brought his hands forward, holding his right one against his bloodied left wrist. He sucked in a breath, wincing, and tilted his head back. A groan left him.

For a moment, Dean had a wild thought of jumping Lucifer, of taking the angel blade, of getting them out of there. But angel blades didn’t work on him. And besides, now it was nowhere to be found. Lucifer slowly paced in a circle around them, like an animal watching prey that it couldn’t reach just yet. Dean half expected the dude to start growling, complaints that he couldn’t have them, couldn’t have _Sam._

Nausea curling Dean’s stomach, he crawled over to Sam. Sam was shaking, and he held his legs close to himself.

He jumped when Dean put a hand on his knee. “I have to do this,” Dean murmured. “Please. Let me do this.”

Tears were building up in Sam’s eyes, and he was doing that twitchy thing he did with his mouth when he was trying to not cry. His adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

Sam’s face was a vulnerable, open book when he opened his mouth. A sound came out, something strangled, struggling. Then he tried again, “I _can’t_.”

“And I can’t,” Dean responded.

Dean leaned in close, and Sam brought his forehead to Dean’s.

They breathed in and out together.

Sam then admitted, “I don’t want to die again. I don’t know— I don’t—”

His shoulders started shaking with sobs, and Dean pat his cheek.

“I got you, brother. I got you. Let me take care of you. I’m gonna take care of my baby brother.”

Sam nodded against him, a tear falling. Dean pulled back, and started running trembling fingers up Sam’s thigh. He didn’t want to notice anything about him. He didn’t want his brother to be anywhere near him in this moment. But he was warm.

Dean couldn’t trust himself, or anything he was going to do. He had no faith. Sam had no faith. And he had no right to. Dean was going to do this.

Guilt flayed him, leaving him half-dead on the cold floor, and alone. So alone.

Lucifer had said nothing so far, but he was close by, leaning in, like he was watching his favorite show. There was a _click_ as he bit at his thumbnail.

Dean swallowed back the extra saliva, and started pressing at Sam’s thighs, trying to ease him into lowering his legs. Morbidly curious and feeling sick inside, Dean looked down. His mind that was in survival mode took in every detail: the strong muscles of his brother’s thighs, the grooves of his lower abdomen that led down to his sturdy hips, to his pelvis. There was dark hair there, which ran down from his chest. And his dick was _right there_ , and Dean thought he was going to gag.

_Oh god._

Sure, Sam and Dean had seen each other naked as kids, but as adults, they’d established more boundaries. Those boundaries hadn’t stopped them from talking about stuff like sex and dick size. (What? They were brothers, of course they’d talk about that stuff.) So Dean had known Sam was big, but he’d always joked that he was bragging, trying to compensate for having “girly” hair.

But he had not been kidding.

And Dean would be lying if he had said he didn’t know what nice dicks looked like. He’d seen a lot. And this was one of them.

Fuck.

He was going to have to kill himself after this. He wouldn’t be able to live with any of it.

He wasn’t _in_ to Sam. He really wasn’t, but to save him…

“Alright, I got ya,” Dean tried soothing, voice low and coming out louder than he’d intended. He had Sam lower his legs, and Sam was breathing hard.

He went green around the mouth.

Dean did something that was probably odd, but he started rubbing Sam’s stomach in circles. Some of the green dissipated, and his brother clenched his jaw, nodding. He understood that Dean was trying to help him.

“This ain’t gonna be fun,” Dean told him, honest.

Sam sniffled, and then looked up. He said idly, “You know what you’re doing?”

“Sure do.”

Sam’s lips trembled and then he tried smiling. It turned into a pout. Still, he said, “Knew it. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean lowered the hand that was on Sam’s stomach, going slow, feeling the muscles recede slightly from his touch. Sam’s breaths filled his stomach, and then they were out again. Dean could feel it, _feel_ him breathing. It was too intimate. Pain pierced him, and numbness spread out from it like his soul had been injected with novocain. Dean took hold of Sam. Sam cried out and threw his head back, face even more green than it had been. Panicking, not wanting his brother to throw up, Dean started rubbing his stomach again, now with his other hand.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I got ya. I got ya.”

“God, _stop._ ”

Dean wanted to stop.

And he did, no longer stroking him.

Sam had his head turned away, averting all eye contact, sniffling.

The Devil clapped his hands together, the sound so loud they both jumped.

“Chop-chop, boys! Get to it! If I don’t see Dean’s mouth on Sam after the count of five, Sammy’s dying again. Five…”

“God, Sam, I’m sorry.”

“Four.”

“Dean, please.”

“Three.”

“I got ya. It’s okay.”

“Two.”

“It’s okay.”

Lucifer didn’t make it to one. Dean leaned down, repositioned himself, and put the head of Sam’s cock in his mouth. A sob hitched his brother’s breath, and his leg closest to Dean’s body twitched. Dean wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but he had to see what he was doing. Giving a blowjob was a skill; lots of multi-tasking.

With one hand he cupped Sam’s balls, gently playing and squeezing, and with the other, he stroked the base of him.

Sam was hardening despite his disgust.

Dean was hardening despite his disgust.

Dean wanted to kill himself.

Maybe Lucifer could do the honors.

Sam started dry-heaving, which managed to make Dean clumsily unhand him and have him slip out of his mouth. Without thinking, he dove in for him again.

_It’s okay,_ he murmured to himself. _It’s all okay._

Sam’s hands were in fists where they were tied behind his back, nails digging into his palms. It put strain on the tendons in his wrists, which in turn caused pain to bloom in his forearms. But that was nothing compared to the way his body had heaved, the way it still wanted to. It was nothing compared to Dean’s skin against his own.

Strangled, terrified sobs left him, but there were no tears. He was shaking, fighting with himself to keep his legs down, to keep them spread. To get this over with, he had to be accessible to Dean.

Another heave wracked Sam’s body, stomach pushing and pushing and pushing. But there was nothing to come out. Emptiness pushed on emptiness, breathing into the tense air that surrounded Sam’s numb consciousness.

But there were parts of him that weren’t numb, and Dean was being diligent.

It was impossible to not take in every detail at first: the way Dean’s plump, pink, cupid’s bow lips pressed softly against heated flesh, the way his tongue would come out and lick the underside of him, paying a great deal of attention to his frenulum, and then his slit. And his hand, oh, his strong hand, it _pumped_ , and without the saliva there since it hadn’t dripped down Sam’s swollen cock yet, the movements felt rough from the friction. Sam’s body liked rough. That was how he usually fucked. Rough, hard. He wasn’t really one for kinks like Dean. He just liked to fuck for the sake of fucking, not as… whatever Dean used it for. Exploring? Sam _could_ do that. He liked to. But why do it delicately when you could just let yourself go?

That’s what he’d done with sex: let himself go. But then _Lucifer_ had happened, ruining him.

And now here they were.

There were just general sensations of wetness and pleasure now, Dean’s hands touching him, and Sam looked up towards the evening light, biting his bottom lip till it bled, tears he thought he’d already cried rolling down his cheeks.

His mouth opened in a long cry, an anguished, heady mix of pain and pleasure. Hot bliss was in between his legs, arcing through his cock to his balls, and up to his gut. The pressure was immense, and each touch was water splashed on hot stones, creating steam, and sizzling and sizzling.

Dean stopped, crawling over to the side, and started dry heaving. Sam’s body soon joined, having heard Dean, and thinking it was a good idea.

It was a terrible idea.

Sam hated his body.

He hated everything.

Lucifer put the angel blade under Sam’s chin, against his neck.

Sam froze, and side-eyed the Devil.

“I think you should get on with it,” Lucifer said.

Dean, holding himself up on his elbows, groaned, picked himself up, and crawled back over. Oh god.

The Devil started sucking on Sam’s earlobe, and biting.

He promised, “After he has you, I’ll have you.”

Sam hurt so badly that he didn’t, like when something burned so hot it felt like cold. There was nothing but the cold burn, the numb pain.

Dean put his hands and mouth on him again.

Sam growled, and then heaved in a breath. He snarled, and winced. And god damn it! _Why? Why? WHY?_

Sam felt the blade against his throat, knew he was being touched, but he fell down into a state of partial unawareness. It was like dreaming. Reality was slow and fast all at once, everything confusing. And he could barely feel anymore.

He came. He didn’t know how he knew because he was busy floating up and away from himself. But he came, Lucifer commanding Dean to swallow.

When he refused, Lucifer grabbed his brother and held his nose.

Sam watched, wondering what the hell was going on. He knew, but he didn’t _know_.

It was horror.

Dean swallowed, fell back, and then started dragging himself away, sobbing. Sam’s body dry heaved again, as if it knew what had happened, and Sam was made to look at the Devil.

“Sam Winchester,” Lucifer began, name sounding like a horrible prayer on his lips, “will you be my vessel?”

Sam glanced at Dean, where he was, his own awful body. And he looked at Lucifer, smiling before him.

Rope cut into the skin of his wrists, and his body was reddened and flushed, glowing with post-orgasmic bliss. The memory of death haunted his every thought.

Sam didn’t know what to say. His mouth had gone dry, and he couldn’t talk.

Lucifer grabbed Dean.

Sam tugged at the ropes, grunted, tried to escape as Dean was brought over.

Lucifer put the angel blade to his chest, just below his sternum.

The Devil stared hard, eyes red.

Sam’s mouth was open, tongue coming out to lick dry lips.

Dean was fighting. It was no use.

Sam knew what this was. Dean was going to die.

Sam could save him.

Before he could do any such thing, just as the pieces had started clicking into place, Lucifer stabbed upward into Dean. His brother’s hurt, shocked eyes locked onto Sam’s. His mouth moved as if he was trying to apologize one last time, and then, Lucifer pulled the blade free, and Dean collapsed to the floor beside Sam, bleeding out.

Sam just sniffled, as he felt like his insides were imploding, cracking and breaking and falling into a great yawning void.

For some reason his head thought the most devastating thought at the moment was that Dean would never get to have that cheeseburger.

Lucifer came over, crouched by him, and lifted his chin up with the edge of the angel blade.

“What’ll it be?” Lucifer asked, voice soft, almost gentle.

Time ticked by, but lay heavy and silent in that moment. Tense.

Sam’s heart beat, blood rushing in his ears.

_BA-BUMP…_

_BA-BUMP…_

Stuttered inhale, filled tight with fear.

“Yes.”


End file.
